


Notes at the beginning of the song

by Marayanna



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Gen, I like to think that he's a veeeeery far-sighted person, alternative title: Arslan invents democracy, talking talking so much talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marayanna/pseuds/Marayanna
Summary: It's the night before the final battle and Arslan can see the future he wants for Pars clearly. One lifetime is not enough to achieve it, but he's determined to point the country in the right direction.And Daryun can only follow, breathless.Originally written as part of "To serve and protect, to guide and love" but I decided it should be posted separately.





	Notes at the beginning of the song

Daryun found him on top of the Bird Tower, looking out from the balcony towards the expanse of mountains out west. It was obvious that if anybody asked the prince would tell them he was here to feed Azrael, even though the bird was sitting on his shoulder, forgotten, keeping vigil over his master when he was so obviously lost in thoughts.

The night was chilly but not cold, light breeze occasionally prickling their skin. From the balcony they could see the army camping on the fields, thousands of men gathered in prince Arslan’s name, their torches like a sea of stars, echoing the sky above them in ever changing, ever shifting mosaic.

Daryun hesitated, unsure of his welcome. He seeked out his master more out of habit than anything else, used to gravitating to his side in short moments of respite. But of course there were also times when the young prince needed his space. And right now seemed to be one of them, Arslan being so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t seem to notice his vassal’s approach at all.

Then again, what a perfect chance for an assassin to strike. There was already a frightening number of incidents when their prince was almost lost to them and Daryun was, above all, a man who learned from his mistakes. So he placed himself quietly by the door, turning his back to Arslan to give him a semblance of privacy but straining his senses to anything out of ordinary. And, much like Azrael, he settled in for a vigil as long as the prince needed.

Time passed and the moon raised up in the sky. There were shouts and laughs below tower, but faint and distorted, as if emerging from different reality. Maybe a reality where young boys weren’t forced to retake their countries and go against their cousins and fathers, where they were sure of their roots and destinies. Maybe that’s what Arslan was seeing now.

“Tomorrow,” the prince started, and when Daryun glanced over his shoulder the prince met his eyes briefly before turning back to the balcony, looking to the sky once more. “Tomorrow will decide the fate of the whole of Pars and its people. Who will sit on the throne? Me? My lord cousin? His highness, my father? And who will be branded foul traitor and usurper?”

It was true, something they all knew for a long time now. That was the path they chose themselves, followed for years now and would follow still, to whatever end it would bring. Still, it was a lot to bear for a sixteen years old boy, burdened with a kind heart in time of war.

“Whoever wins, will achieve nearly absolute power. Become the link between the Gods and people as the next king. Rule however they deem fit”

Arslan got silent again, for a time so long it seemed he would not speak again. And when he finally did, his voice was calm, measured.

“And yet I can’t help but think,” he said “A king like this should not be allowed to  exist”

And Daryun jerked as if struck, shocked in the face of this blasphemy, instantly ready to confront anybody who would utter such a thing, ready to force them to take it back. But what was he to do when it was precisely the one he chose as his king who decided to shake the foundation of his world?

“Tomorrow will decide the fate of the whole Pars and its people” Arslan repeated, strong and sure “And yet, how can people influence the final result, what can they do, other than be pointlessly killed on the battlefield? Some of them chose their lords and the side they fight for, but most soldiers were thrown right into the middle of this conflict without a question or consideration for their lives, and all they are trying to do now is protect their homes, their families” he sounded angry, angry for those who had to bear their anger in silence, speaking for those whose complaints could get them trialed and killed.

“It’s like Sinduran Duel before the Gods all over again. The strongest one wins, but that doesn’t mean that the strongest one is _right._ And no matter what, it’s Parsian people who will bear the brunt of discovering who _was_ right, many years from now, living under a rule of capable or incapable king. It’s unrelated to the size of army and good fortune on the battlefield. It’s unrelated to any claims of succession”

His back was stiff and his fists were clenched, his voice raw when he spoke next, baring the thing that hurt him the most it seemed, the thing that was hurting for a long time now. Aching beneath the skin when he proclaimed his orders, pulsing beneath his eyelids during many sleepless nights.

 “Someone who holds the fate of the whole nation in his hands shouldn’t be chosen through bloodshed, shouldn’t even be chosen through bloodright, not… Not when you can’t even be sure who _really_ has that blood, has that right. Not when it causes people to commit such _atrocities_ …”

He seemed to choke on his own words, but his back was straight, unwavering, face hidden from Daryun so that he couldn’t say what was going through his master’s mind at all. And it was just as well, because he wouldn’t know how to respond anyway.

It was cruel, to say all those things to Daryun of all people. Daryun, who was a descendant of long generations of soldiers, who lived and breathed by warriors code before he even could raise a sword or ride a horse. He was supposed to be strong, brave and _loyal._ He was supposed to fight for his master without question, be the extension of their will in the  battle. That was the moral thing to do, the _right_ thing to do, and he couldn’t afford to think of it any other way. He knew there were scholars and philosophers, always discussing, always arguing, always unsure of what was truly just, and Daryun didn’t need that on the battlefield, where there was only one rule and it was measured in one’s conviction.

Before Antropene his master had been Andragoras and now, years after it no longer held true, he could admit that questioning masters and their decisions could also be _dangerous_. His own fate before that battle was a bitter remainder that, for many, bowing their heads and accepting their orders was the only way.

But now, the master he not only respected but cherished dearly, deemed it _wrong_.

Arslan spent long hours thinking over his decisions, seeking guidance, listening to advice. Trying to make the right choices, trying to become a man his subjects could trust. But he refused to make them follow him blindly, follow _anybody_ blindly, and Daryun thought with a start that he was the Liberator in so many more ways than they realized.

Sixteen years old boy, already the prince, the general, the reformer. Soon to be the king, even if Daryun had to rip the victory from fires of hell itself. All of it a burden on slender shoulders of a boy who looked into the future and decided – _more. that’s not enough. i am not doing enough._

Daryun couldn’t see what Arslan was seeing, standing alone on top of the tower in the middle of the night, but ultimately he didn’t need to. There were loyalties built on fear and there were loyalties built on love, and then there were loyalties born of bone shattering awe and conviction that, yes. This man. This man had dreams big enough they could shake the world and will strong enough to make them true. 

He would need all the help he could get.

“What would Your Highness do, then?” his voice was more unsteady than he would like it to be, but he knew it was the right thing to say still, because Arslan’s answer came quick and prepared.

“Let people have a say in choosing their king. Let their opinion be heard. Let the ruler be appointed not for being a child of their parents, but for their value, their knowledge and spirit. Let officials prove themselves on their spots and know that any one of them might be chosen in the future  if only they are capable”

Daryun tried to wrap his head around it, the shift in his perspective so enormous it made his head spin, tried to imagine Narsus’ expression upon hearing it all. It was their tactician who taught Arslan to question the rules of the world around him, who showed him that just because that was how things were, didn’t mean that was how they _should_ be. Oh, how the student had outgrown their master. The seed that was planted all those years ago was beginning to bloom in a way that no one could have predicted.  

“And in order to make it equal, we will allow common citizens to become highest officials, too” Arslan was on fire know, talking quickly as if he could see the future unfolding in front of his very eyes, unheeding of his knight’s troubles with keeping up. “Not only nobility, but everyone will be able to apply for a position, as long as they have the knowledge. So, of course, we will need to open schools” he pushed on “Schools for everybody who wishes to learn, and not only for future officials. We could use educated carpenters, or fishermen, or soldiers. We could use people capable of understanding and choosing their own destiny”

Daryun stared at the man in front of him, standing straight and proud, his hair and clothes reflecting the moonlight and making him a sole beacon of light in this otherwise dark room. Something was happening here, something was being decided, and it felt monumental, earth-shattering, for all that there were only two pairs of eyes to witness it. Daryun held his breath, waiting for the next words as if  each was its own small epiphany.

“But for everyone to have a chance to become king, everyone has to be treated equally” Arslan slowed down now, but his voice was still strong  “So the first step is freeing the slaves”

Daryun felt slightly safer on this familiar ground, though he tried to remember the time, just few minutes ago, when freeing the slaves was the most challenging, most revolutionary thing he could think of. Now it became only the first step, it seemed.

“That’s why, Daryun” Arslan turned to him, and in his eyes there was fire, there was steel. “Tomorrow, we win”

And _that,_ that was something Daryun understood.

He could take that weight from Arslan’s shoulders, could kneel before his master and promise to forge the path before him, to fight for the future he could not yet see but could believe in. Believe in the person who had looked into the dark night, at army of soldiers, and saw a future full of educated children and fairly chosen kings, equality and fairness.


End file.
